


Unpredictable

by crookperkdeck



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, if theres any inaccuracies i apologize i did it by memory, just a lil writing exercise of sorts after watching tw2 stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 09:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookperkdeck/pseuds/crookperkdeck
Summary: Iorveth and Geralt take a break on the way to Loc Muinne.





	Unpredictable

                Geralt wasn't sure what incited it. Maybe it was the threatening approach of Loc Muinne and the final fights to come; the thought that some unfortunate circumstance would separate him and Iorveth forever—not as a slight to Iorveth's skills, but more in that Geralt didn't trust the unpredictability of war. It had taken time and time before, and Geralt had come to accept that fact with more reluctance each passing day. Iorveth was different—he'd seen him take control of impossible circumstances on the battlefield to _make_ it predictable and bend in his favor, and he admired that.

                Nothing was predictable in this, for either of them, and maybe that was the motivation behind it. To be without reason, or logic, and instead rely off a feeling that had been building in Geralt for these months. He wanted, by some impulse, to add to the unpredictability of his situation.

                There was unpredictability in Iorveth's reaction, too; in all the possibilities in which his expression could emerge when Geralt separated from the kiss. Iorveth held himself too close to let his emotions show visibly enough for a perfect definition, but Geralt took a small pleasure in learning to read the subtleties that did emerge.

                They had taken a moment to rest from the climb up the cliffside, and Iorveth had been talking idly to fill the silence. Geralt’s responses, with time, had become shorter the more he found himself lost in the tones of the elf’s voice, and acted upon it. The kiss was gentle, short—a demonstration of feelings, if anything.

                The reaction Geralt was faced with now, like many others seen from his companion, took him a minute to understand, but one emotion stood out now amongst any other: speechlessness. Geralt took a small amount of pride in that, which pushed against the rising tide of embarrassment in having actually gone through with his actions.

                “You kissed me,” Iorveth said plainly, after he could finally break the silence. There was no contempt in his voice, but instead a growing measure of thoughtfulness as he drew out those three words.

                “I did,” Geralt said back, just as simply, to not draw out any specific emotion in Iorveth. He caught just a hint of breathlessness in his own voice, however, and hoped it could be dismissed as reactionary rather than emotive.

                Iorveth's eye cast downward, and for a moment his hand danced in the motion of a handhold, as if trying to hold onto or relocate a feeling.

                _Speechlessness_. The air of it still hung around the elf, but Geralt detected no discomfort in it. If anything, there was a desire in the both of them to draw nearer, but he wasn't about to try. He was surprised alone that this felt so different than in other kisses shared with people—this was a natural, calming warmth settling in his chest. He felt the urge to press a gentle hand to Iorveth's face, feel closer to how his companion was. Understand him, as they had been learning to understand each other throughout their journey thus far.

                “Why?” Iorveth asked. It came out as accusatory, but not hostile. More demanding of an answer, to guide him closer to how he should be reacting. It made Geralt wonder if the other men Iorveth had mentioned in passing—those he had had brief engagements with before—had seen this side of him, or if Iorveth had mutually accepted the same impulsive feeling they had towards him. Brush aside the deeper feelings to avoid digging further—Geralt had done that before with other people, but the urge was gone now.

                “It seemed right. Been wanting to do it for a while,” he admitted.

                “At the top of a cliff face? That's what incites that desire of yours?” Iorveth asked suspiciously.

                A small, younger part of Geralt wanted to laugh at that, and if he were 50 years younger, he might have. He hadn't taken as much notice into the appropriateness of their environment as into the man he was sharing his company with, and that investment should've been embarrassing. Instead it had energized him.

                “Yes. There wasn't much else that had just us two,” he said, and paused. “Call it good luck if you'd like.”

                “I don't need it for luck,” Iorveth said, in that prideful way of his. He kept his eye cast away, holding himself firmly.

                “What do you need it for?” Geralt asked, feeling himself lean closer, now that there was an established lack of resentment.

                Iorveth looked to him at last, a few moments ticking by as he analyzed his decision. He finally brought his hand to the back of Geralt's head, drawing him in for a second kiss.

                Geralt finally got to do what he wanted—feel gently along Iorveth's face to keep him there a little longer, be closer to it all. He had only kissed one other man—another traveler he had journeyed with, years ago—once before and it was so brief, so insincere that he hadn't had the ability to dwell on it like this.

                The light contact, the subtle moment into the kiss where Iorveth didn't push away from his hand but instead motioned closer, the quiet around them that showed that this was a moment just between the two of them. Geralt didn't want to leave it.

                Iorveth finally broke it, however, and gently but hurriedly straightened to get to his feet. “We should keep moving. That climb took enough time away from us.”

                “I agree,” Geralt responded, and joined him to his feet. He made sure everything was on him, and Iorveth used the silence to take a moment to himself.

                “Gwynb—” he said, but stopped, unsure. “Geralt. Should anything…” he started, but shook it off, growing frustrated with demonstrating what he wanted to say. “Forget it. Let's go.”

                Geralt was unbothered by the sentiment, even feeling the hint of a smile grow on his own face, honored by Iorveth’s dedication to his words. “Right. Lead on.”

                Iorveth hurried forward, and Geralt after him.


End file.
